"Didn't he died of Carbon Monoxide?" Warren asked confusedly, sitting on the chair of the bedside table and see if it goes straight to his head like those of assassinations, but no, it was taller. He knew he was taller than him but the shot was still higher.
"Yes, it was sure. though the pictures of his body had a few questionable streaks that were never answered from the autopsy, it was still from the Carbon Monoxide." He answered, now recovered from mourning, though he knew he'll still cry to his wife, or both of them will cry because of how deep this mattered to them, especially that this deceased man grew fond and close to them especially to their son, T.
"Then we can say that it was not meant to kill him." Warren stood up, walking to the side of the room, and looked at the hole then